________________________________________________
_ On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostov, Princess Mary
had found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince
Andrew giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvintseva at
Voronezh. That feeling akin to temptation which had tormented her
during her father's illness, since his death, and especially since her
meeting with Rostov was smothered by arrangements for the journey,
anxiety about her brother, settling in a new house, meeting new
people, and attending to her nephew's education. She was sad. Now,
after a month passed in quiet surroundings, she felt more and more
deeply the loss of her father which was associated in her mind with
the ruin of Russia. She was agitated and incessantly tortured by the
thought of the dangers to which her brother, the only intimate
person now remaining to her, was exposed. She was worried too about
her nephew's education for which she had always felt herself
incompetent, but in the depths of her soul she felt at peace- a
peace arising from consciousness of having stifled those personal
dreams and hopes that had been on the point of awakening within her
and were related to her meeting with Rostov.
The day after her party the governor's wife came to see
Malvintseva and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarked
that though under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, of
course, not to be thought of, all the same the young people might be
brought together and could get to know one another. Malvintseva
expressed approval, and the governor's wife began to speak of Rostov
in Mary's presence, praising him and telling how he had blushed when
Princess Mary's name was mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced a
painful rather than a joyful feeling- her mental tranquillity was
destroyed, and desires, doubts, self-reproach, and hopes reawoke.
During the two days that elapsed before Rostov called, Princess Mary
continually thought of how she ought to behave to him. First she
decided not to come to the drawing room when he called to see her
aunt- that it would not be proper for her, in her deep mourning, to
receive visitors; then she thought this would be rude after what he
had done for her; then it occurred to her that her aunt and the
governor's wife had intentions concerning herself and Rostov- their
looks and words at times seemed to confirm this supposition- then
she told herself that only she, with her sinful nature, could think
this of them: they could not forget that situated as she was, while
still wearing deep mourning, such matchmaking would be an insult to
her and to her father's memory. Assuming that she did go down to see
him, Princess Mary imagined the words he would say to her and what she
would say to him, and these words sometimes seemed undeservedly cold
and then to mean too much. More than anything she feared lest the
confusion she felt might overwhelm her and betray her as soon as she
saw him.
But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawing
room that Count Rostov had called, the princess showed no confusion,
only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new
and radiant light.
"You have met him, Aunt?" said she in a calm voice, unable herself
to understand that she could be outwardly so calm and natural.
When Rostov entered the room, the princess dropped her eyes for an
instant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then
just as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his look
with shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace she
half rose with a smile of pleasure, held out her slender, delicate
hand to him, and began to speak in a voice in which for the first time
new deep womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was in
the drawing room, looked at Princess Mary in bewildered surprise.
Herself a consummate coquette, she could not have maneuvered better on
meeting a man she wished to attract.
"Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really has
greatly improved without my having noticed it. And above all, what
tact and grace!" thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.
Had Princess Mary been capable of reflection at that moment, she
would have been more surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the
change that had taken place in herself. From the moment she recognized
that dear, loved face, a new life force took possession of her and
compelled her to speak and act apart from her own will. From the
time Rostov entered, her face became suddenly transformed. It was as
if a light had been kindled in a carved and painted lantern and the
intricate, skillful, artistic work on its sides, that previously
seemed dark, coarse, and meaningless, was suddenly shown up in
unexpected and striking beauty. For the first time all that pure,
spiritual, inward travail through which she had lived appeared on
the surface. All her inward labor, her dissatisfaction with herself,
her sufferings, her strivings after goodness, her meekness, love,
and self-sacrifice- all this now shone in those radiant eyes, in her
delicate smile, and in every trait of her gentle face.
Rostov saw all this as clearly as if he had known her whole life. He
felt that the being before him was quite different from, and better
than, anyone he had met before, and above all better than himself.
Their conversation was very simple and unimportant. They spoke of
the war, and like everyone else unconsciously exaggerated their sorrow
about it; they spoke of their last meeting- Nicholas trying to
change the subject- they talked of the governor's kind wife, of
Nicholas' relations, and of Princess Mary's.
She did not talk about her brother, diverting the conversation as
soon as her aunt mentioned Andrew. Evidently she could speak of
Russia's misfortunes with a certain artificiality, but her brother was
too near her heart and she neither could nor would speak lightly of
him. Nicholas noticed this, as he noticed every shade of Princess
Mary's character with an observation unusual to him, and everything
confirmed his conviction that she was a quite unusual and
extraordinary being. Nicholas blushed and was confused when people
spoke to him about the princess (as she did when he was mentioned) and
even when he thought of her, but in her presence he felt quite at
ease, and said not at all what he had prepared, but what, quite
appropriately, occurred to him at the moment.
When a pause occurred during his short visit, Nicholas, as is
usual when there are children, turned to Prince Andrew's little son,
caressing him and asking whether he would like to be an hussar. He
took the boy on his knee, played with him, and looked round at
Princess Mary. With a softened, happy, timid look she watched the
boy she loved in the arms of the man she loved. Nicholas also
noticed that look and, as if understanding it, flushed with pleasure
and began to kiss the boy with good natured playfulness.
As she was in mourning Princess Mary did not go out into society,
and Nicholas did not think it the proper thing to visit her again; but
all the same the governor's wife went on with her matchmaking, passing
on to Nicholas the flattering things Princess Mary said of him and
vice versa, and insisting on his declaring himself to Princess Mary.
For this purpose she arranged a meeting between the young people at
the bishop's house before Mass.
Though Rostov told the governeor's wife that he would not make any
declaration to Princess Mary, he promised to go.
As at Tilsit Rostov had not allowed himself to doubt that what
everybody considered right was right, so now, after a short but
sincere struggle between his effort to arrange his life by his own
sense of justice, and in obedient submission to circumstances, he
chose the latter and yielded to the power he felt irresistibly
carrying him he knew not where. He knew that after his promise to
Sonya it would be what he deemed base to declare his feelings to
Princess Mary. And he knew that he would never act basely. But he also
knew (or rather felt at the bottom of his heart) that by resigning
himself now to the force of circumstances and to those who were
guiding him, he was not only doing nothing wrong, but was doing
something very important- more important than anything he had ever
done in his life.
After meeting Princess Mary, though the course of his life went on
externally as before, all his former amusements lost their charm for
him and he often thought about her. But he never thought about her
as he had thought of all the young ladies without exception whom he
had met in society, nor as he had for a long time, and at one time
rapturously, thought about Sonya. He had pictured each of those
young ladies as almost all honest-hearted young men do, that is, as
a possible wife, adapting her in his imagination to all the conditions
of married life: a white dressing gown, his wife at the tea table, his
wife's carriage, little ones, Mamma and Papa, their relations to
her, and so on- and these pictures of the future had given him
pleasure. But with Princess Mary, to whom they were trying to get
him engaged, he could never picture anything of future married life.
If he tried, his pictures seemed incongruous and false. It made him
afraid. _
Read next: Book Twelve: 1812: Chapter 7
Read previous: Book Twelve: 1812: Chapter 5
Table of content of War and Peace
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
